Stanningfield is a fairly busy village
between Bury and Sudbury, but you don't
have to go far off the main road to find yourself in an
idyllic valley of glades and hedgerows. Ancient
farmhouses nestle the lanes squarely, and here is St
Nicholas, as lovely in Spring as any church possibly has
the right to be. Curiously, the local parish insist on
spelling their church dedication St Nicolas, in the
French manner.

Stanningfield, the name probably
derived from stony field, is a fascinating
place. The proximity of the Rookwoods at Coldham Hall gave this
village one of the strongest Catholic presences in all
East Anglia. Throughout the penal years, the Catholic
liturgy was celebrated in this parish, although not in St
Nicholas, of course. As recently as the early 20th
century, perhaps half this village and that of
neighbouring Lawshall were
nominally Catholic, and there was a Catholic village
school until 1949.

That the old religion survived here is
to both the credit and cost of the Rookwood family, who
were heavily penalised. One of them, Ambrose Rookwood,
was implicated in the Gunpowder Plot of 1605, and lost
his life.

Like many Big House Catholics after the
Reformation, they celebrated their Faith in their private
chapel, but chose to be buried in the Parish church - an
act of faith in itself, perhaps. They eventually
intermarried with the recusant Gages of Hengrave, and by the late 19th century the Hall had been
sold to another family. The last heir to the Coldham Hall
estate fell in the First World War, which I suppose is
symbolic of the effects that conflict had on the English
countryside. Today, it is the home of the former
supermodel Claudia Schiffer.

Pictures of the church before the 1880s
show a fine 14th century tower; but it was reckoned
unsafe, and brought down. In truth, the remaining stump
is rather attractive. There were three bells in the
tower, and one has been returned to a wooden bell frame
just below the cap. The other two, with inscriptions from
the 16th and 17th centuries, stood on the nave floor
until as recently as 1967, when they were shamefully
melted down for scrap.

The glory of the exterior is the superb
Decorated chancel, the result of
a bequest by the Rookwoods in the 14th century. The
design and craftsmanship of the window tracery are
outstanding. It was common for chancels to be bequeathed
by rich families; another excellent example is nearby at Glemsford.

The arch to the south door is splendid,
and there is another fine Norman doorway, now blocked, on
the north side. There is a key readily available across
the road from the nice lady who lives in the old rectory,
and the three churchwardens are keen on visitors, but I
could see no reason at all for this church being locked.

And you really do need to go in, for
this church contains one of the great medieval treasures
of East Anglia, the Stanningfield Doom. This late 15th
century extravaganza was covered with whitewash, probably
by Protestant reformers in the late 1540s, and discovered
during the 19th century restoration. Like all Doom
paintings, it is a folk art representation of the last
judgement, and is chiefly remarkable for the red pigment
used in its colouring. This makes it quite different in
its effect to, say, Cowlinge, North Cove, Stoke
by Clare or Wenhaston.

It was restored in the 1990s. The
Victorians had enthusiastically covered it with varnish,
and of course the moisture built up behind it. The
churchwarden explained that it had all been lifted off of
the wall, cleaned, and stuck back on.

I was struck by how volatile an art
object like this is. The black and white photograph taken
by Cautley in the 1930s
shows far more details, and Mortlock in the 1980s found little more than a grey
shadow - well, it is certainly more impressive than that
today, but what will remain in a hundred years time?
Incidentally, a man from the Boydell press told me a
funny story about Cautley's photo, which you can see a
photocopy of at the back of the church. Apparently,
Cautley, wearing his other hat as Diocesan architect, had
tutted and shaken his head as he looked up at the doom.
"I think we'd better have some scaffolding put up
and take a closer look at that", he muttered. The
churchwardens put up the scaffolding, Cautley climbed up
with his camera, and hey presto! a photo for his book.

Among my favourite characters in the
doom are the man above the point of the arch who is still
wearing his shroud, and the pious woman preserving her
modesty with praying hands low down on the northern side.
But best of all is the naked man to the north of the
chancel arch, hurrying out of his coffin. His bare bottom
must have been a source of grateful distraction from dull
sermons over the years. The whole doom is below, with
selected highlights below that. Hover to read captions
and click to see an enlarged image.

There are two other items of great
interest in the church. The splendid 15th century font carries familiar tracery patterns, but also the
shield of the Rookwoods on the east side. And there is a
good, if over-restored, Easter sepulchre up in the chancel; one might almost think the
chancel made for it, but it postdates the chancel by a
good 200 years, being installed on the eve of the
Reformation. It served as a tomb for the Thomas Rookwood
of the day, although I am afraid that the angels are
Victorian additions.

Also of interest in the chancel is the
restrained glass of the Millennium east window, and a
curious quatrefoil low side window that is also visible
from the outside. The sill above on the inside extends
eastwards; perhaps as a seat for the server whose job it
was to open the window and ring the sacring bell at the
consecration of the Mass (also, incidentally, allowing an
updraft to the rood to make the candles flicker),
although I did wonder if it was a later addition. Note
also that the easterly windows in the nave are dropped to
accomodate sedilia, suggesting
altar shrines. All in all, this is a splendid church,
full of the memory of the past.

And so, I headed on, back through the
village and on to Bradfield Combust. On
the way, I passed a beautiful old Methodist chapel, alone
with its hall in the rape fields. It has a little
graveyard in front, where I stopped for a quick potter,
and reflected that religion must have been a matter of
some lively debate in 19th century Stanningfield.

St
Nicholas, Stanningfield, is just to the west of the A134
Bury to Sudbury road, near Bradfield Combust. Take the
turning to Bradfield Methodist Church, and then the next
turn on the left. I found it locked with four keyholders
listed; the key was most readily available across the
road at the Old Rectory.

With
grateful reference to the fine book A Stanningfield
Century, published by the Stanningfield Village
Society.